The Sundered City
by Beorning
Summary: An ongoing story told from Delvin Mallory's perspective. "She told me the Thieves Guild's luck was about to change, that we were due for good things. And I believed her, 'till the war came to Riften."


_Author's Note: Spoilers for the Thieves Guild and Civil War storylines to follow. _

**The Sundered City**

**The Occupation of Riften**

**Chapter 1**

"Hands behind your head, baldy!"

I couldn't see which of the two bandits said it, but the pair came toward me, holdin' their swords out like batons and flashin' wolf-pup grins. It was about time. We'd been on this road most of the night, Cynric and me, waitin' for these two to take the bait. Now Cynric had disappeared somewhere in the bushes, so the only thing between these two thugs and a wagon full of loot was little _helpless_ me—poor Delvin Mallory.

I almost felt bad for 'em.

One of the thugs—a short ginger—stepped forward and waved his sword about. "You hear me, old man? Hands on your skull!"

"Old man? Boys, I'm hurt." I shrugged from my place atop the wagon. I let my hands fall for just a moment, made like I'd forgot, then put 'em up again like a scared, bumbling merchant. "Not _that_ old. Been a while since my boyhood, but I can still dance a jig or two."

"You wanna live to dance another, you'll shut your gums." That was the taller thug. "Now here's what you do," he said. "You step down from that wagon, then put your face against that tree while we help ourselves. You do that, and you don't get our steel." He stood a little bit behind his shorter pal. Maybe he wanted to let his friend do the dirty work. Not a complete fool, that one.

"Easy there boys," I said as I twiddled my fingers in the air. "Not looking for trouble, just trying to get my goods down from Shor's Stone." I tried to keep a straight face. "Don't mean you folks no harm."

"Not gonna take that chance," the short one said. His sword arm was shaking. I could smell his sweat. "Now get off that wagon or I'll pry you out!" He took a step forward and jabbed up with his sword, a hair too far outside, the point a hair too high…

I saw my chance. I sprang from my seat in the wagon and kicked out to catch the ginger hard on the nose with my boot heel. I'd meant to kick him in the gut, but that worked too. He stumbled back a few paces then fell. I landed hard on my left foot and something crunched. For half a heartbeat I couldn't see, but I gritted my teeth, and came up with my short sword out and at the ready.

The tall bandit didn't waste time. He rushed me and swept down with a vicious overhand blow. I'd underestimated him, didn't think he'd be that quick with that heavy a blade. I barely had time to parry. I put my weight on my good leg and threw him back a few paces. I hoped he wasn't about to try again—If it came to a real fight things could get messy quick. But we weren't supposed to kill these two. Just as well; my leg was on fire now.

I saw him take another step forward. I braced, but suddenly he stopped, damn near mid step. His eyes flicked to his left like he was tryin' to look behind him. Even in the dark, I could see he'd gone pale.

I grinned as I realized what was goin' on. "See you've met my friend. That's a broadhead arrow behind your ear. A man-killer at a hundred paces. And at point blank," I shook my head, "Nasty stuff. Don't make us get nasty, youngster."

The man hesitated. There was fear in his eyes, fear and hate. "At this range," he said, "your friend puts an arrow in me, it'll go straight through to you."

"I could dodge," I said, not knowin' if it was a lie, not on this leg. "Either way I'll manage. I got a thick skull." Must have been some truth there, since I'd let Cynric talk me into bein' bait. But this whole thing was my idea, my pet project, so I kept a stiff upper lip and waited for the would-be robber to break.

It didn't take long. He was scared and furious, but he wasn't daft. He lay down his sword and I kicked it away. Cynric lowered his bow a hair, but kept the arrow nocked. The other bandit was just getting to his knees, clutching a nose that was bloody—and bloody likely broken. Suited him.

"Now the two of you, maybe you're wonderin, how you got in this jam. You tried to play in someone else's back yard, boys. Three nights ago you robbed Beorn the merchant, took a good load of antiques from him. And nobody, nobody robs Beorn but us. Nobody but The Guild." That's why we'd come out here with a wagon full of junk decoys, to pay these sods back for Beorn. I liked the old man, got quite a few trinkets from his shop. I consider him a friend. But even friends got a tax to pay. And we can't have punks like these two trying to milk our cows. "Keep your hands to yourself in The Rift."

Sometimes, you threaten a man and he gets violent, or he gets scared and fouls himself. Sometimes they'll even sulk. But these two just looked surprised. "Nonplussed" I'd say if I was an educated man. (And I _ain't_.) Maybe they thought The Guild didn't have the brass to back its threats up anymore. Guess they hadn't heard about all the recent excitement. That'd change soon enough, once word started gettin' out.

"We'll let you go, this time," I said. "It's against my better judgment, but my friend here's got a soft heart and I'd hate to upset him," I said, pointin' behind him to Cynric. "So you get out of here. Maybe someday you feel like being a real thief, we'll talk. Till then, you don't touch a thing in the city, not a thing in the whole damned hold, you get me?

The ginger with the bloody nose looked up, hand still cupped to his face. "So that Stormcloak wagon a few weeks back, that was you too?"

It was news to me, and his friend shot him a look like we weren't supposed to know anything about that. I decided to play along and sort it out later with Cyn. "Yeah, that was us. Anyone who gets in our way on our turf has that coming. Now I'll ask again—you two get me?"

They both nodded, so I gave them my best smile. "Then bugger off, the both of you."

It didn't take them long to see the wisdom in our advice, and soon we were back on the wagon, on the dark road back to Riften. "Never figured you for an actor, Del," Cynric told me. "You managed three, four whole minutes before you broke someone's nose. Mark of a talented and sensitive soul."

"What can I say? Got an artistic side. But them callin' me baldy—Bit rude I'd say."

"Ha, helped you play the part!" I shot him a look over my shoulder, but he laughed it off. "Acting like a feeble old man must come naturally, Del!"

"As natural as it gets, even got the limp to go with it."

"I saw that, hell, I _heard _it. Maybe if your ankle was a thick as your skull." Cynric chuckled. "Got a kick out of that bluff. My arrow'd have split you like a melon though, even someone as dense as you."

"Ma always said I'd be good for somethin', but not stoppin' arrows. I'll find my callin' one day," I said dryly. "But for now, good to show those punks who's on top for a change. You think they got the message?"

"The one you busted up, sure. But the other one, that lanky pup? Seemed like he might have took it personally."

"As long as he gets the picture."

"And if he don't," Cyn said, "we'll sic Sapphire on him. She'll put her knife to his coin purse!"

"To it and through it," I agreed. I was still getting' used to the idea of Sapphire havin' so much pull nowadays. She'd gone from shaking down small-timers to being Brynjolf's protégé so quickly I'd thought it was a sham, at best a sham. But she was turnin' out good, damned good. And for all the hate she carried around in her, she'd worked clean, except when she'd scragged Mercer Frey. I'd have given an eyelash or two to have seen that with my own eyes. After that, if she wanted to share some of the headaches of leadership, she was welcome to it. I had my hands full as it was.

We went on a little longer before Cyn asked the question I'd been puttin' off. "What did they say about a Stormcloak wagon? What's that about?"

"Not a clue," I said in all honesty. The rebels had control of the Rift, ever since the start of the war. That ain't my problem—their war's just Nords killin' Nords, same as it's ever been around here. Still, if some enterprisin' bandits were taking on the rebels themselves, and that could mean trouble. "Sounds like we've got more competition."

"Who, the Imperials?"

I shook my head. "Last I'd heard, they'd taken The Pale. Windhelm's a straight shot east from there, why turn south?"

"Then who hit the wagon?"

"It sure weren't pixies. Whatever it was, you know who'll end up sortin' it out. Lucky us."

I expected a snort from Cyn, but he'd gone quiet. I turned and saw him reached for his bow as if it were instinct, which for him it likely was. "You hear that?" he asked, and pointed off in the blackness to the west.

I listened. "Fort Greenwall?" That was the Stormcloak base, and there was a low rumble in that direction. "Doesn't sound like training…" I looked up at one of the fort's distant, broken towers. I could barely see it in the moonless night. There were dots of flame everywhere, but I couldn't make out nothin' more.

"A gods-damned night attack?" Cyn asked.

"Maybe just highwaymen," I said, realizing how daft that sounded as soon as I'd said it. It had to be the Empire.

We climbed off the wagon to get a closer look, and tethered the horse to a tree. We crept up the hill 'till a grindin' sound caught us by surprise, and we ducked under a log. A stone at the base of the crag heaved and spit dust, then fell away, and two figures wriggled out of the hole. One was carryin' a torch. Looked like a woman, and there was something sticking out of her shoulder, maybe an arrow shaft. The other was crawlin', looked bad. The dim torchlight reflected off their faceplates. _ Stormcloaks. _

The one who was crawlin' fell to the ground in a spasm, and the other turned to help. They were almost back on their feet when an horrid noise erupted somewhere deep inside the fort. More than a noise, almost roar. On instinct I pressed tight against the ground. I'd seen sorcery, been around my share of wizards' battles, but nothin' like this.

The rebels heard it too. The woman dropped her torch and the wounded man both. She ran into the blackness, and in a moment a whinny told me she'd found our wagon. I should have got up, cut her off before she'd got my horse, nobody would miss her. But that noise from the castle…

There were more sounds now, more Stormcloaks poppin' out of the hole, moving past the one on the ground. That one wasn't movin'. They were all headin' north, like they could run all the way back to Windhelm.

Cynric nudged me with the tip of his bow. "What now?" He was still, but I could hear the nerves in his voice. In a way that made me feel better, like I wasn't the only one.

"We get the horse ba—" I started to say, then that noise erupted from the castle again. I fell back, onto my bum leg again. I tried to bite back the pain—didn't work.

"Sod it, back to Riften!" I rasped. The whole thing was a muck-up now, and I didn't want to stick around to greet any more soldiers. We both turned and headed for the underbrush. I went as fast as I could on my leg, and tried not to think about what we might find when we got back.


End file.
